San Remo
by Marla Singer
Summary: A different version of the motorboat scene with Dickie and Tom


A "what if" Tom didn't kill Dickie on the motorboat?  
*****  
Tom has already said he wants to come back to Italy. Dickie's not thrilled with the idea and verbally abuses him as he starts up the boat's engine. Normally, he would pick up the oar here, but my wishy washy heart wants something else..  
*****  
  
The engine roared into action. Tom was grateful for the noise. It was bad enough to be forced to deal with this in the middle of nowhere, but to have to do it in silence would have been torture. So far, Tom was handling the insults Dickie threw at him silently, trying to push back the knot that was developing in his throat.   
  
The noise didn't stop Dickie from his tirade. He just spat out his words louder. "I knew something was off with you. Freddie tried to warn me. He knew."  
  
"Why don't you just shut up," Tom muttered quietly. He needed Dickie to stop now. Something had to be done; a punch to the jaw, jumping overboard, a kiss on the mouth - anything to make him quit the ranting.  
  
Tom exploded. "Shut up! God! I'm not listening to this anymore." He grabbed the oar, and before he knew it, stood in front of Dickie, ready to strike.  
  
Dickie took no time in showing who was in control. The oar was yanked out of Tom's hands and flung to the bottom of the boat. Dickie shoved Tom back down. "Now keep your mouth shut and don't move."  
  
It was now clear to Tom that Dickie would never understand. With defeat staring him in the face, he could no longer hold back his tears.   
  
"Oh my God," Dickie sneered.  
  
Tom turned to face the water. The dark stillness taking the edge off Dickie's cruelty. It would be easy to end it here. Jump in, let the water fill his lungs. A few terrible moments of struggle in exchange for what, Tom wasn't sure. Nothingness, he supposed. A place where his attempt at life could be forgotten. He shut his eyes and breathed in the air, which seemed stale now. He looked at Dickie once more, to confirm what he was about to do was necessary.  
  
There was nothing but disgust in the other man's eyes. It would be easy to goad Dickie into throwing him overboard. But Tom didn't want to die violently, he wanted his last thoughts to be of a life that could have been. One where he and Dickie lived together. Afternoons spent reclining against one another, reading passages from Shakespeare. Just a quiet life, nothing more.  
Tom choked at this stupid fantasy. He didn't exactly know how he would drown. He wasn't a strong swimmer, in fact, he barely knew how to keep afloat. He supposed it wouldn't be very long before his body gave in and sank to the bottom.  
  
With a broken voice he spoke. "I'm sorry, Dickie. I only wanted what you had. I'm so sorry."  
  
Dickie regarded him curiously, and was about to answer when Tom stood up and jumped off the boat.  
  
The water suddenly was around him. He felt himself spring up like a rocket, natural buoyancy working against his wishes. Tom opened his mouth to let the water in his lungs. Nevertheless, his head broke the surface. He tried as best as he could not to take in any oxygen and dove back under.  
  
Dickie watched the scene from the boat, not knowing what to do, or not believing that it was a real suicide attempt.  
Tom thankfully found himself getting tired. He bobbed back to the top again, but immediately ducked under. As he had predicted, Dickie couldn't care less if he lived or died. Muddy flashes of his first days in Mongibello came at him. He tried to recall an image of Dickie in happier times, but was denied. This was a good sign that this struggle was coming to an end. He tried to relax and let himself drift away.  
  
Suddenly, he was jerked to the surface. This time, for good. Dickie's strong hands kept Tom's face out of the water. Tom weakly struggled against him, even his body rebelled. He coughed and sputtered, expelling the water from his chest.   
  
"No, I wanna stay," Tom protested as Dickie tipped him onto the motorboat.  
  
Dickie climbed on board and kneeled beside him. Tom opened his eyes. The sun shone down onto Dickie's damp hair, creating a golden aura around him.  
  
In between deep breaths Tom muttered, "You saved me?"  
  
Dickie grinned, exposing genuine warmth. "Like I'm going to watch you drown. God, you're so dramatic. Really, you should become an actor."  
  
Tom was seized with an urge to kiss every bit of his flesh in appreciation for his heroism. He wanted to reward Dickie with an affection Marge could never give him. He extended a hand to Dickie's cheek, and sighed. "Oh, Dickie."  
  
Dickie immediately recoiled. "What are you doing? I'm not queer."  
  
Tom sat up weakly. "I'm not saying-"  
  
Dickie moved to start the engine again. "No fairy bastard is going to kill himself over me. What you need to do is go back to the states. Find someone of your own kind and stay the hell away from me."  
  
Tom let his head fall back down on to the bottom of the boat. "You should have let me die."  
  
"Spare me. When we get to shore, you're on your own."  
  
Tom's eyes shut, longing once again for the water's icy grip.  
  
"Don't even think about jumping in again. If I see you making a move, I'll break your arms."  
  
The hate that coursed through these words made it more than apparent that this friendship was over. No matter how much Tom tried to fool himself, there was no future here.  
  
Tom kept his mouth shut the entire trip back. Dickie docked the boat, not looking at him once. The only time he did, it was to check if Tom wasn't following him. Tom found a place on a stone wall and sat down. He watching Dickie move further away until he turned the corner and was gone. Tom shivered and hugged himself to keep warm. He'd have to go back to the hotel to collect his things, but he couldn't risk meeting up with Dickie. At least, not yet. 


End file.
